If you go down in the woods today
by Tea for Lupin
Summary: 00Q. Fairytale AU where MI6 is responsible for hunting down monsters, Q is not a normal human, and James Bond is occasionally willingly lost in the woods.
1. A bloody dead tree

The fallen tree was a soft riot of green moss and yellow lichens, incipient with toadstools. James stared at it without really seeing. He took a deep breath, released it slowly. A chance to be still, and not think. Not think, without the aid of a bottle of Scotch, for once. Such a novelty. He should try it more often, he supposed.

A quiet footfall; another breathing body beside him, seated on the long flat rock; another pair of feet in the damp leaves. James did not turn his head. _Jesus_. Even this far into the woods there was never any peace.

The body spoke with a young man's voice, cultured, careful. 'It always makes me feel a bit melancholy. Beautiful old tree like that, ignominiously overgrown, consumed, broken down into soil...' A little sigh; James ground his teeth and with difficulty kept from rolling his eyes. 'The inevitability of time, don't you think? What do you see?'

'A bloody dead tree.' James wanted to be angry, but found instead he was only tired. Pulling up the hood of his red coat against the cold afternoon, he stood. 'Excuse me.'

'007.' The name was impossible, but it had been spoken into the hushed green air nonetheless. 'I'm your new Quartermaster.'

James sank back down onto the rock. 'You must be joking.'

'Why—because I'm not wearing a cassock?' The voice was dryly amused. At last, James turned to look at its owner; took in the thin face, the wild hair, the green eyes. He knew what he had already known from the moment the young man had sat down beside him. It was what they trained and paid him for, after all.

'Because you're a werewolf,' he answered, flatly.

The flicker of a twitch of those red, red lips. 'Oh, you are good. But my bloodline is hardly relevant.'

'Your competence is.'

This time, a sudden show of short sharp teeth. 'And by 'competence' I imagine you mean my ability to keep my … disorder … under control.' The smile had never made it to Q's eyes. 'Don't underestimate me, 007. On a professional level—or a personal one.'

'Or what? You'll bite me?' James' hand was swift to his knife but Q was, unimaginably, quicker; pinning James' hands with his own so that rock scraped grey against the bones of James' wrists.

'I wouldn't have to. You come here,' he said, gesturing with his head to indicate the trees tall around them, 'and you think you know this place, know the paths that will lead you safe to M's little gingerbread cottage in the heart of the forest. You'll make your report and then you'll go back home.' His grip tightened; James held very still. '_I live here_,' Q breathed, his hair trailing across James' cheek like tree-shadow.

'Oh?' James allowed himself the bitterness. 'Then what do you need me for?'

Q relinquished his hands as suddenly as he had seized them. 'Because, every now and then, a throat needs to be cut.'

'That's beneath you, is it?'

'My talents lie elsewhere.' Q's eyes were savage in the shaft of late sunlight.

_I'll wager they do_, James thought to himself. Out loud, he said, 'Who else knows?'

'M.'

'If she trusts you, I suppose I can. Q.'

'007.' This time when Q took his hand, offered, James could feel the pulse jumping against his fingers, brief and thrilling.

'These are for your next mission.' From an inner pocket of his coat Q produced a flat box, stark and unadorned. 'Do try and bring them back in one piece.'

James glanced inside and snapped the lid back down. 'An iron knife and a tinderbox? It's hardly Christmas, is it?'

'What did you expect, an exploding quill?' There was a definite smirk on Q's face now; he seemed to have relaxed. 'We don't really go in for that sort of thing any more.' He rose and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. The afternoon was fading fast to twilight and there was a greyness gathering on the ground. Looking down at James Q gave him a last curt nod. 'Good luck, 007. And remember—don't stray off the path.'

James felt himself grin, feral under the red hood. 'Not without you, Q. Not without you.'

But the young man had already disappeared.


	2. Why are you still here

Q laid the trail of breadcrumbs and the Rat was taken down, but not before James had passed through fire and ice only to have M die in his arms, bleeding out from the arrow wound as Skyfall burning flickered over their skin with a dreadful orange light.

* * *

Q checked over the equipment one last time before packing it into the familiar box and handing it to R. 'Deliver this to 002, please R—it's just standard issue, she'll know what to do with it. No further instructions.' R nodded and left, winking cheerfully at James who was lounging in what could now be called his usual spot in Q Branch: against the one segment of wall that was covered only in sigilled posters, a narrow gap between shelves of esoteric ingredients in their faceted bottles.

He watched now as Q measured grains of yellow powder into a small crucible: one, two, three, four.

'Why are you still here, 007?'

James raised an eyebrow. 'Am I bothering you?'

It seemed that Q was going to ignore his question. James shrugged slightly and watched as the young man added a few silvery drops of liquid to the powder in the crucible, turned up the flame beneath it, and stirred the mixture for a few moments, counting under his breath. With a nod of satisfaction he bottled the resulting green syrup and tucked it carefully into a velvet-lined box.

Then: 'Yes, 007,' Q said, walking over to place the box on a shelf near James' head. He set it down with an exquisite carefulness that spoke a singing tension in every line of his thin frame. Folding his arms over his chest and looking at the agent for the first time that morning since James had returned his equipment, Q continued, 'Since you ask, _yes_. You are bothering me. You are here in Q Branch much, much more frequently than necessary for pre- and post-mission briefings. I am reliably informed that you have spent more time in Q Branch in the last six months than you did in your entire career up to this point.' He drew a deep breath and went on, quick and clipped, before James could interrupt. 'I get the impression, from your continual watchful presence, that you don't trust me.'

James blinked, genuinely taken aback. 'Don't _trust_ you? Q, you know how much I bloody well trust you. Christ, as if I have any choice out there in the field, anyway. But you've never led me a step wrong—never. And none of the other agents have any complaints either—well, apart from when they break one of your favourite toys and you won't give them a new one.'

But Q's lips were set in a thin red line and he did not smile.

'…That's not it, though, is it.' The realisation hit James with a suddenness that knocked the breath from him. 'You actually don't trust _me_. You think I'm here keeping an eye on you. Because I know.' The look on Q's face was all the answer that he needed. 'I can't be the only one. You're telling me not a _single_ one of the other Double-Os has sensed it? Anyway, it must be in your file, M's eyes only—'

With the very faintest hint of a rueful smirk, Q shook his head.

James looked at him with a new-found level of respect. '_Shit_, Q. I don't believe it. M—_this_ M—doesn't know what you are?'

Q's eyes were surprisingly raw and green but his voice was thoroughly matter of fact. 'I've told you before, Bond—I'm the best at what I do.' With a twist of his mouth he added, 'And so are you, apparently.'

'God help us,' James said with feeling, 'if you ever go over to the monsters' side.'

Q flinched as if he had been slapped, and James cursed himself inwardly for his clumsy words. For the mask came down over the young Quartermaster's face, schooling it into the expression of calm competence, bordering on arrogance, which Q customarily wore.

'Well, 007,' he said coolly, 'if I may return to my original question—why the bloody hell are you still here, if it's not to make sure I'm not on the monsters' side?'

James sighed. 'I suppose,' he said, 'I've been working up the courage to ask you out for a picnic in the woods.'


	3. What do you take me for

The picnic, it turned out, would have to wait.

James rounded a corner carefully with Q's voice in his ear. 'Cerberus to your right, fifty paces. You'd better take it out.'

'Seems a shame,' James grunted into the commlink medallion around his neck, bringing down the beast with a well-aimed crossbow bolt to its middle head. 'Would've made a nice pet for you.' He reloaded and kept on running down the stone corridor.

'All right, now use the phial I gave you to neutralise the firewall. The weapons cache is behind it, shouldn't be hard to locate. I've got eyes on you, but I should warn you that I can't scry through the firewall, so I'm afraid I can't tell whether there's anything else in there right now. You'll have exactly two minutes from when it goes down to acquire the cache and get back out, so do try to keep your arse in gear, won't you, 007?'

The corridor ended abruptly in a dancing wall of orange flame. Even standing well back from it James was sweating in the brunt of its radiant heat. He drew the phial from his belt pouch and looked at it dubiously. 'This had better work, Q.'

'Of course it will work, what do you take me for?' The Quartermaster sounded thoroughly offended. James grinned briefly to himself. Well, that was one mission accomplished, anyway. He edged closer, eyes slitted against the force of the firewall; the sweat evaporated from his skin almost as soon as it formed. When he was as close as he could possibly bear, he uncorked the tiny bottle and hurled its contents into the flames.

They shot from orange to white and back again, and though they still hung there like a shimmering curtain the heat was gone; so great was the difference that James staggered as if caught by a gust of cold wind. He gathered himself swiftly and ran through into the chamber behind.

'One minute forty seconds,' Q said.

'Christ, Q, there's ten of them.' James began placing the dragon eggs into the sheepskin-lined satchel he wore over his shoulder.

'More than we thought, then. M will be pleased. Or not. One minute six seconds.'

'On my way out.' Bond passed back through the illusion of the firewall and set off at a steady run, clutching the satchel with one hand to keep it from bumping against him too much. Past the limp form of the Cerberus, black paws still; around the corner and back towards the stairwell. Miraculously, no one appeared to challenge him from the halls that branched off the main corridor. Maybe he would get out of here without having to kill anyone else.

'Good thing those eggs aren't especially breakable,' Q observed drily when the satchel collided with the metal bannister as James hurled himself up the stairs two at a time. James gritted his teeth but saved his breath. His hand was on the cold metal of the door, about to push it open, when Q said, suddenly sharp, 'Bond, wait.' James paused, feeling his heart hammer in his chest.

'Vexing,' said Q. 'We've missed the window between the guard rounds and this fellow is about to see the corpse of the one you dispatched before, in—well, about now, actually.'

James dropped the crossbow and pulled his knife just as the door was yanked open. He made quick but quiet work of the incoming guard and tossed his body down the stairs, grabbed his crossbow and slammed the door behind him just as the first sound of pursuit came from below.

'Calling my extraction team now,' he panted, scrabbling in his belt pouch for the tinderbox. Flint struck steel and amidst the shower of sparks appeared the dog with eyes the size of supper plates. James grabbed onto the rough short fur at its neck and swung up onto its back, flattening himself down as much as possible. An arrow whistled past his ear, but the dog took off at an extraordinary pace, quickly outdistancing their pursuers. It made its way up and onto the rooftops of the city, nothing but a darker shadow moving against the night sky.

'It seems you're in the clear, 007.'

'Good.' James sat up a little straighter and felt the wind strike his face; the night was not cold, but the dog's speed lent the air a keen bite. 'Thanks, Q.'

'Based on your current velocity, estimated time of arrival at Headquarters is twenty-three-hundred-forty hours. I'll let M know—' James could hear the undercurrent of amusement in Q's voice '—that the mission went considerably more smoothly than expected.'

'Of course it did, what do you take me for?' James retorted, and was rewarded by a soft chuckle from the Quartermaster.

* * *

Thanks to fromthewildwood for the idea of the tinderbox. All other mishmash of fantasy elements, technology and terrible puns is my own.


	4. Lead into gold

'Damn it, Q—how far in are we going?' James paused, looking around warily.

The Quartermaster glanced back over his shoulder, lips quirking into a half-smile. 'Feeling nervous?'

James stood his ground. 'Uneasy.' He gestured at the trees that rose around them, tall and dense enough that scarcely any of the late spring sun filtered through the canopy; the understorey was rendered into a dreamy verdant twilight. 'You know this is enemy territory, for me.'

'Oh yes,' Q said lightly. 'I know.' He closed the few paces between them, standing close enough that James could feel Q's breath on his own cheek. 'I also know that you are armed to the teeth, and you know that _I_ am much more dangerous than I appear—so let's be frank: the only real hazard, to either of us, is from the other.' He cocked his head, green eyes bright with a light that sent heat rushing straight to James' groin. 'But I don't think that's really why we're here.'

In answer James laced his hands into the thick tangle of Q's hair, and felt the other man's fingers slide around, warm and possessive, to cup the back of his neck. It was not a gentle kiss; but with Q gentle kisses were something James neither expected nor desired.

'In a hurry, are we?' he murmured with a slight smirk as Q's free hand wandered down purposefully to the waistband of his trousers; then he gasped as Q slipped his hand inside and took hold of his already-erect cock.

'I've wanted you since the day I first met you.' Q's words were little more than a whisper against James' skin. 'I see no merit in delaying gratification any longer—do you?'

Well. When he put it like that.

*  
Later, Q tore hungrily into the bread and cheese while James leaned back on one arm, legs stretched lazily in front of him, drinking the wine they had also brought with them.

'How do you manage it?' he asked. 'Manage to hide it, I mean. What you are.'

Q rolled his eyes, but his words were not as hostile as they could have been. 'I haven't made it to where I am today by divulging my secrets to all and sundry, Bond, especially not to agents of MI6.'

James raised one hand in a gesture of surrender. 'It was just a question, Q.'

Q said, 'Hmmm,' and reached for the bottle of wine. He took a long swallow, and James watched the pulse beating in the column of Q's throat. He wanted to touch it. He held back.

'I can tell you this much, I suppose,' Q conceded after a few moments' silence, broken only by the sound of some wild animal—a deer, thought James—crashing through the trees somewhere behind them. 'The _taint_—' his lips twisted into a sneer at the word '—goes back a long way in my family; but I was the first one to manifest symptoms in several generations. My mother... managed things... when I was young. Kept it hidden. Then she died. My father married again. My stepmother—well, let's just say that she was not sorry to have an excuse to send me off with the Huntsman.'

'Bitch.'

'Oh please,' Q said viciously, 'don't pretend you wouldn't have done the same. Have you forgotten your profession?'

James glared at him. 'I never forget my profession.'

'Then shut up.'

James took back the wine and drank, pointedly.

'I don't know why the Huntsman spared my life,' Q went on, with his hair very black and his lips very red against his white skin, 'but he did. Eventually I found my way to one of the underground organisations—'

'Those bloody dwarves,' James muttered under his breath.

'Those bloody dwarves, as you say,' Q agreed with equanimity, 'and I think that's all you really need to know, don't you?' He ate some more cheese.

'And why did you decide to become an alchemist?' James asked, reaching for the bread.

Q had stretched out his hand for it at the same time; they paused, fingers barely brushing against fingers, for a long beat. At last Q sat back, and ran his tongue over his lips before drawing in a deep breath and letting it out in a slow quiet sigh.

'Because,' he answered, 'I thought that if I could be transformed into... that... Well. I need to believe it's possible to turn lead into gold, as well.'


End file.
